Words Unspoken
by AnabelleG
Summary: A one-shot inspired by Amy Winehouse's version of "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow".


**A/N: I've been dabbling with this story forever and a day, ever since Wills introduced me to the Amy Winehouse version of "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow". As is often the case, it started in one place but ended up somewhere completely unexpected. Hope you find it interesting! –AnaG**

All but abandoned, the room was peaceful in a way it rarely was. The focused pace was absent and silence eased into the empty spaces, broken only by the faint sound of songs from a forgotten radio, husky with static as they drifted from an unknown corner. The lights were dimmed, all but one, softly defining the world around a single table in shades of blue and white.

He was content to let her have the light, taking the shadows for himself as he settled into place, watching as she worked. His presence forgotten, darkness unnoticed and music unheard, she hovered over the bones, intent on discovering the answer she was certain they hid. Even without movement, without awareness, she seemed to dance. Complete grace, he thought, in a starched blue lab coat and a messy ponytail held in place with a yellow pencil.

Time passed, marked only by the slide of one old song into another, until something inside of him shifted and he was no longer patient, no longer content.

_xxxxxxxx_

She had stared at the fracture so long the delicate lattice of shattered bone became indecipherable. The story it told was only seconds from her grasp, but every time she closed in, he was there in the periphery, stealing it away. She grew still, so conscious of his presence there in the shadows it seemed connected to her own.

His touch when it came—a hand tracing over the small of her back—seared through layers of cotton and silk, sending a swift wave of need straight through her, rushing over her heart to capture her breath.

Unsteady, she faced him, the question on her lips silenced by an almost imperceptible shake of his head. His eyes held hers as he moved closer and reached to slide the pencil from her upswept hair, sending it cascading to her shoulders. Briefly, his hand rested against her cheek before it strayed further, gently brushing the wayward waves from her face.

Floating between confusion and anticipation, she thought she saw a fleeting smile before he lightly pressed a fingertip against her brow, smoothing the familiar questioning crease forming there. Then he took her hands in his, slowly removing the thin white gloves. She watched, transfixed, as he traced the tender lines of her open palm.

_xxxxxxxx_

He only wanted to share a moment of the grace he saw in her. A simple dance to faraway music. He didn't anticipate her response or his own reaction to the tremor he'd felt when he placed a hand at the small of fher back. Then, he saw her face, looked into her eyes, and knew that one dance would not be enough for either of them. Not this one, not any that followed. But as he stood there and held her hands in his, he knew that for now, it was all they had.

Guiding one hand to his shoulder, holding the other close to his chest, he led her to the music. Simple movement in an unhurried rhythm, without grand gestures or self-conscious smiles. No worries about boundaries or concerns about what tomorrow would bring. Only small swaying circles that drew them into the center.

_xxxxxxxx_

She didn't know when she rested her head against his shoulder or when his arm slid around her waist. But she knew that there, in that space, with the feel of his worn cotton shirt against her cheek and the beat of his heart beneath the hand he still held, she was where she belonged.

Wanting to see his face, she leaned back into the strength of his arm and told him…

Metal crashed against metal, rudely shattering the moment. Heart racing, she looked up from the table, eyes searching the empty room. Her breath caught in her throat when she caught sight of the janitor struggling to get his cart through the door. She watched as it finally closed behind him, instantly silencing the old radio he kept balanced near his broom and dustpan. As quiet reality rebounded, she sagged against the cold edge of the table.

_xxxxxxxx_

Back in the shadows, he saw her fall apart, the tears sliding down her face as she mourned. It was a loss he shared—grief for a memory that never happened, the ache that came with wanting something that could have been and being forced to accept that it never would.

It was what drew him there, time and again, the impossible hope that his presence would make it easier, that somehow he could protect her even from this. Listening to her weep, he understood that he had been wrong. As long as he was there, it kept the pain too near, too close, for her to escape.

_xxxxxxxx_

For one moment, she allowed herself to believe that he was there. That she could feel the brush of his fingertips against her face, hear the sound of his voice just once more.

_It's time to say goodbye, Bones._

"No." She choked out the words. "Don't leave me."

_I know you don't believe this now, but one day… _

"Not one day. I love you today. I loved you yesterday and I will still love you…."

_xxxxxxxx_

"…still love you tomorrow."

He whispered the words along with her, not knowing if she heard, hoping that she did.


End file.
